Playboy Interview: George Burns

The most inspired cinematic stroke of 1977 was the casting of George Burns as God in Warner Bros.' huge moneymaker "Oh, God!" And, by God, there may be a Second Coming of Burns's tennis-shoed Lord in a sequel. Playing God isn't bad for a performer who readily admits that he was a god-awful vaudevillian until he teamed up with a dainty Irish dramatic actress and dancer named Gracie Allen. To hear Burns tell it, in his self-deprecatory manner, he went into retirement the moment he hooked up with Amazing Gracie. "Gracie did it all," he says. "All I had to do was smoke a cigar and ask, 'Gracie, how's your brother?'"

George's slow-burning interlocutor was the perfect foil for the loopy Gracie. As the harassed husband, he wielded his cigar as if it were an S O S flare and delivered gravelly voiced asides with impeccable timing. For more than three decades--in vaudeville, then on radio and television--Burns and Allen were America's most beloved odd couple. Preferring to spend more time with her grandchildren, Gracie retired in 1958. So, slightly daunted, George decided to continue as a single. His fears of flopping were without foundation. He quickly became a Las Vegas headliner, a sought-after talk-show guest and, finally, a bona fide movie star who won an Oscar for his performance in "The Sunshine Boys," the first movie in which he played a character other than himself.

Burns contends he was born Nathan Birnbaum 82 years ago on Pitt Street in New York's Lower East Side. That is hotly disputed by some of his friends, who insist George is merely 45 but plays old in order to score more easily with the nubile starlets with whom he's so often seen. The ninth of 12 children, Burns never realized how poor his family was, "because everybody I knew was poor and, anyway, we always had enough hot food to eat ... my mother made a great sauce ... with her sauce, anything would taste good, even a shoe." Besides an enduring obsession for napalm-hot food, George also inherited his mother's sense of humor. "She was funny by inference, like I am," he says. "She had a great sense of humor." Except at choosing a husband, a dour, Orthodox Jew who was a factotum around the synagogue and who died when George was seven.

By the time he was 14, Burns was a dance teacher and fledgling vaudevillian who would do damn near anything to get six minutes onstage--roller-skate, sand dance, even play second banana to a trained seal. He kept that up for 13 years. Enter--providentially--Gracie Allen, a 17-year-old out-of-work dancer-actress who caught George's act one night in 1923, felt the poor lad needed some help and went backstage to suggest they team up.

At first, George was the comic and Gracie played it straight; but when Gracie got all the laughs, Burns decided on a droll reversal. Not much later, Gracie pulled a switcheroo of her own. At the time she teamed up with George, she was in love with a handsome Irish vaudevillian named Benny Ryan. Stricken with appendicitis in San Francisco while touring with Burns, Gracie waited in vain for some sympathetic word from Ryan. What she got was $160 worth of flowers from George. Exit Benny Ryan. George and Gracie were married in 1926.

That same year, Burns and Allen were signed to a six-year contract by the prestigious B. F. Keith vaudeville chain and they soon climbed to the top of the hill with such material as the celebrated "Lamb Chops" routine:

George: Do you like to love?

Gracie: No.

George: Do you like to kiss?

Gracie: No.

George: What do you like?

Gracie: Lamb chops.

George: A girl like you, a little girl like you, can you eat two lamb chops alone?

Gracie: Alone I can't eat them. With potatoes I can eat them.

Though, as Burns now admits, that bit of business is pretty silly, "Lamb Chops" served as the centerpiece--and title--for their first movie, a nine-minute Vitaphone one-reeler in 1929. Gracie's off-center "illogical logic" made exquisite sense to a nation that had not yet turned cynical and for which fun was still simply fun. George and Gracie soon found themselves in demand as guest performers on hit radio shows hosted by the likes of Eddie Cantor, Rudy Vallee and Guy Lombardo, and in 1932 they quit vaudeville for their own CBS radio show. George's unfinished melodies and Gracie's non sequiturs were fixtures on the airwaves for the next 18 years.

In 1950, Burns and Allen made the transition to television with a situation comedy featuring Bea Benadaret, Larry Keating and Harry Von Zell. The show ran--usually near the top of the ratings--until Gracie retired. Like Jack Benny's and Groucho Marx's, the Burns and Allen show had a timeless quality about it and you can bet your life that reruns are being televised somewhere in the U.S. right now.

Burns continued on TV alone for a year as star of "The George Burns Show"; then he did a season with Connie Stevens in the series "Wendy and Me," which he also produced. He became a wealthy man: With Gracie, he owned the $5,000,000 McCadden Corporation, which produced not only "The Burns and Allen Show" but "The Bob Cummings Show," "The People's Choice" and "Panic!" Burns also was co-owner of the talking-horse TV series "Mr. Ed."

Then, convinced that "some of Gracie's talent had rubbed off on me," the 63-year-old Burns became one of the freshest new faces of 1959 when he launched his solo night-club and concert act. The act, which consisted of songs never sung to completion and monologs about life with Gracie punctuated by puffs on a huge El Producto, was boffo everywhere. After Gracie's death in 1964, Burns teamed up for a time with bubble-headed blonde Carol Channing, then went into the first of many periods of semiretirement.

Burns very nearly died himself before undergoing open-heart surgery in August 1974. One of the most constant visitors during George's recuperation was his closest friend, Jack Benny, who had just agreed to co-star in the film version of Neil Simon's hit play about two aged, feuding ex-vaudevillians, "The Sunshine Boys." Burns recovered completely, but Benny died suddenly--and playwright Simon and director Herbert Ross asked Burns to replace him in the cast. Acting opposite Walter Matthau, Burns played the part of Al Lewis with such stylish charm and dignity that no one was surprised when he won the Oscar for Best Supporting Actor of 1975. He won further plaudits for 1977's "Oh, God!" and has just completed work on the $12,000,000 musical "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band," based on the Beatles' album and starring Peter Frampton and the Bee Gees. Several other scripts await his perusal.

To find out how Burns is coping with his second experience with stardom, Playboy sent writer Arthur Cooper to interview him. He reports:

"George Burns is your typical overnight success. He lives in a large, expensively appointed house at one of the country's most fashionable addresses, in Beverly Hills. He wears modish, finely tailored suits and sports coats and colorful turtleneck sweaters. He dines at the trendiest restaurants and is invited to all the chichi parties. He can usually be found behind a blue cloud of cigar smoke and on the arm of some curvaceous young beauty. He tools around town in a new dark-blue Cadillac Seville.

"In truth, Burns is one of the gentlest and kindest of men. Even when prodded, he cannot find a mean word to say about anyone. If he ever had any enemies, he has managed to outlive them. He is considerate to the point of using a plastic cigar holder to spare those around him the sight of the wet tip of his cigar.

"The interview took place over the period of a week, both at Burns's house and on the location of 'Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band,' the musical in which he has the only speaking part. On the set between takes, sitting in a canvas chair with his name lettered on the back, George was besieged for autographs. Women, young and old, lined up to pose with Burns while friends clicked away on Instamatics. Women simply can't keep their hands off George--and vice versa.

"He is an informal fellow, a charming raconteur, a dignified relic who, ironically enough, has never known greater fame. And, so you shouldn't be surprised, Burns serves the driest martinis--and the hottest soup--in Southern California."

[Q] Playboy: Do you have any idea how many times you've been interviewed?

[A] Burns: More than once. If you want a good interview, you have to ask the right questions. If I'm sparked, I can talk for days. The questions that drive me nuts are when somebody says, "What's the funniest thing you ever said?" "Who is the funniest man you ever met?" "Say something funny." It's ridiculous. Your question was pretty ridiculous, too. You want a cigar?

[Q] Playboy: No, thanks.

[A] Burns: That's the only excitement I get these days--putting a cigar in the holder.

[Q] Playboy: The editors said they wanted this interview to be revealing as well as funny. Anything you'd care to reveal at the outset?

[A] Burns: I lust for chicken soup.

[Q] Playboy: Actually, from what we hear, it's the young women around Los Angeles who lust after you. Why do so many of them find you irresistible?

[A] Burns: Because I don't do anything! Look, what the hell is wrong with going out with me? I take them to nice restaurants, they meet nice people, they eat good food. When I take them to Chasen's for dinner, in between courses they have time to do their homework. I figure some of their youth may rub off on me and some of what I've got might rub off on them. That is, if it doesn't drop off before I meet them. I'm sure I can't hurt them. Look, I'd go out with women my age, but there are no women my age.

[Q] Playboy: Groucho and George Jessel in their later years built their image around being lusty old men. And, of course, we're told that we can enjoy sex when we're 90. Excuse us for asking, but do you still have sex?

[A] Burns: I can have sex, sure. Look, it's just as good now as it was then, and it was very bad then!

[Q] Playboy: Is it true you have sex four times a week?

[A] Burns: No, that's not true. Four times a night, maybe, but not four times a week. Are you a sex maniac or something? Ask me something else. Wait. I'll ask me something else. You mentioned Georgie Jessel. I'll tell you a good Jessel story. I saw Jessel in The Jazz Singer on Broadway. He was absolutely great. A smash. He sang Kol Nidre. Well, it just knocked me out. I was sitting there crying. I ran back to tell Jessel how great he was. And Bob Milford, his cousin, was working for him and Milford says, "You can't go in the dressing room." "I want to tell Mr. Jessel how great he is." He says, "You can't go in and see Georgie Jessel now. He's in his dressing room with his clothes off." I said, "Look, I've seen a naked Jew before." Milford says, "You can't go in and see him. He's got a dame with him in there." I thought nothing could follow Kol Nidre; but I guess that could!

[Q] Playboy: So Jessel earned his campaign medals?

[A] Burns: Yeah. When he took The Jazz Singer on the road, he'd have a beauty contest in every city and he'd pick eight beautiful girls and put them in the show. So Jessel had all these broads--every night a different broad. And he was married then, I think to Courtney, and every time she caught him in bed with some girl, she'd hit him over the head with something, a lamp, anything. Jessel was getting a lot of headaches.

[Q] Playboy: Jessel was one of the roundtable regulars at Hillcrest, the predominantly Jewish country club in Los Angeles, to which you and so many of your showbiz friends belonged, wasn't he?

[A] Burns: Yeah, Jessel, Jack Benny, Groucho, Al Jolson, Danny Thomas, Danny Kaye, Milton Berle. Jessel held court. He was the storyteller. A very funny man, Jessel, and a very talented fellow. His career went a little bit haywire because he spread it out too far. He went in all directions instead of going in that one direction. Anyway, at the table, everyone was fighting to get on. If you told a story about two fellows in a saloon, no one was interested in where the saloon was or how the guys were dressed. Just get to the point. And there was one fella at the table, Patsy Flick, whose preambles were outrageous, took up all your time. He'd say, "This fellow was about 5'2" and he wore a blue suit and the other fellow was, oh, maybe 5'7", no, maybe 5'8" and wore spats...." Well, who the hell cared? Whenever he'd meet you, he'd stop you and tell you a story. He'd kill the whole season with one story. So whenever I met him, he'd start to tell me a story and I'd say, "Patsy, I know the story, it's a switch on the pineapple story." "Oh, OK." So finally, after I hit him with that five or six times, he said, "George, tell me the pineapple story." And I said, "There is no such story."

[Q] Playboy: With that crowd, there must have been a tremendous clash of egos--and a few insults, too.

[A] Burns: Oh, yeah. I'll tell you this story about Groucho. I've never told it. It didn't happen at the round table, it happened at a party Edward G. Robinson gave. Groucho didn't like me. In fact, he later said, "Jack Benny was a very talented man and George Burns had no talent." If that's the way he felt, fine. But what caused him to say it was we were at Eddie's party, about 20 of us for dinner; this is about four years ago. Well, sometimes I'm funny and sometimes I'm not. But I was good for two or three minutes at the table--and Groucho resented it. So Groucho said, "Just a minute, George, don't take over. I'm in show business, too." I said, "Well, OK. Quiet, everybody, Groucho is going to do two funny minutes." Well, I shouldn't have said that; it wasn't too nice. But anyway, one thing led to another and one woman said something like, "George, name the top ten comedians." I said, "Look, I can't do that. They're all funny--Groucho, Ed Wynn, Jack Benny. But if you want to know who I think is the funniest comedian, I would have to say Charlie Chaplin." And Groucho resented that. He said, "Charlie Chaplin isn't the funniest comedian. I am. I'm funnier than Charlie Chaplin." So I said, "Well, then I must be funnier than Charlie Chaplin, too, because I'm funnier than you." And, to make matters worse, I said, "And Chaplin did it without his brothers!" Oh, Christ! Then Groucho came out and said, "George Burns has got no talent."

[Q] Playboy: Was he angry with you until his death?

[A] Burns: Oh, no, no. I finally called him--I knew he wasn't feeling well--and I said, "Groucho, I changed my mind. You're funnier than Charlie Chaplin."

[Q] Playboy: What did you really think of Groucho?

[A] Burns: He was great. Look at those movies. He was absolutely fabulous. Groucho made it up. All those guys who made it up lasted. Elvis Presley made it up. Chaplin made it up. Jolson made it up. Eddie Cantor was a very clever fellow, but nobody ever talks about him. He didn't make it up. Sinatra, Bing Crosby, they made it up, they'll last.

[Q] Playboy: What about Jolson? Was he the greatest entertainer who ever lived?

[A] Burns: There was nobody, no greater entertainer than Jolie! But Jolie was a tough guy. He wanted everybody in show business to retire. He wanted to be there alone. And Jolson--I don't know if you've heard this story--always had the water running in his dressing room, the sink, so he could never hear how the other acts were doing. Yeah. It could be Powers' elephants onstage--he didn't want to hear any applause. When he walked on, it was Jolson taking it over. He could follow anybody in the world; there was nobody as good as Jolson. That's a big statement.

[A] I don't think he was the biggest talent I've ever seen, but I'd say he was the best entertainer. I saw him follow Caruso at a Liberty Bond rally during World War One. Caruso came out and sang Over There. Caruso! Then on came Jolie. Little guy with a blue suit and a blue shirt, very tan--he had just come from Florida--opened up his collar and said, "You ain't heard nothin' yet!" And he was a riot. You ain't heard nothin' yet! Jolie was marvelous. Let me tell you something: When he wasn't doing well, the Hillcrest Country Club had its 25th or 35th anniversary, I don't remember numbers, and we all entertained, Jack Benny, myself, Danny Thomas, Danny Kaye. And Jolson closed the show. When I say Jolson wasn't doing well, I mean he always had a couple of million dollars, but he wasn't entertaining much. Sang too loud. By that time, the microphone had come out, you whispered. Jolson didn't want to use a microphone. Jolson sang in California and you heard him in Altoona. So after we all entertained, they said, "And now, ladies and gentlemen, Al Jolson!" But instead of Jolson coming on, he had hired eight violinists and they came on and started tuning up, like there was no show on ahead of them. We all looked, they tuned up--bop, bop, bah. Jolie finally came on and when he got through, you forgot there had been anyone on before him. And that was the first time, I think, that any artist brought in his own musicians.

[Q] Playboy: We're getting a little ahead of ourself. Tell us about your background. What's the earliest memory you have?

[A] Burns: Well, when I was very, very young, I did everything. I used to shine shoes--two cents a shine. Carried a box with a little strap, two cents a shine. Very little shine for two cents, just a lot of spit. And I sold newspapers. And I sold crackers, little vanilla crackers. You used to get them in a grocery store, ten for a cent. I'd sell them on the street eight for a cent. Every time I sold a penny's worth of crackers, I made two crackers. I ate the profits, never made any money. Then I joined the Peewee Quartet. We sang in saloons, back yards, at amateur nights, on ferryboats.

[Q] Playboy: How old were you?

[A] Burns: Seven. Passed the hat around. A funny thing happened. We used to sing just in the Jewish neighborhood, but on Halloween, we decided to step out and go into the gentile neighborhood. There wasn't much Halloween on the Lower East Side. And we did very well. We made $17. We had never made that kind of money in our lives before. If we made 50 cents apiece, that was considered a good night. Well, we made $17. And when we came out of this saloon, there were a lot of gentile kids dressed up in all kinds of Halloween outfits, and they wanted to take our money. Jesus, we couldn't give up 17 bucks. So we ran to the Jewish Boys' Club at Tenth Street and Avenue A. Inside, we told them that these gentile kids were trying to take our money. So the boys from the club went out and chased the gentile kids away. And they came back and said, "How much money you got?" And we said, "Seventeen bucks." So they took the $17 and chased us away. So we lost the 17 bucks. To nice Jewish boys.

[Q] Playboy: Like so many other comedians of your generation, you grew up on the Lower East Side of New York. What was it like?

[A] Burns: We didn't know we were poor. We thought everybody was poor. A lot of us used to sleep on the floor, on a mattress. One mattress would handle four kids, because we'd sleep crosswise. And my mother said, "You kids are very lucky. Some kids have no floor to sleep on." We'd try to figure that out. "Where do they sleep with no floor?"

[Q] Playboy: Tell us about your mother.

[A] Burns: She was a great lady, a great woman. Nothing flustered her. She had a marvelous sense of humor. She said things by inference. I do, too. I think it rubbed off. When I sang with the Peewee Quartet, we represented a Presbyterian church. How that church was built in a Jewish neighborhood I'll never know. And Siegel-Cooper, which was a department store, had a Sunday picnic with a singing competition and we won first prize. They gave us four Ingersoll watches, which in those days cost about 65 cents apiece. When I came home, my mother was hanging the wash up on the roof and I told her, "Momma, I don't want to be a Jew anymore." She said, "What do you want to be?" "A Presbyterian. I've been a Jew for seven years, I got nothing. I was a Presbyterian for one day and I got an Ingersoll watch." She said, "First help me hang up the wash, then you can be a Presbyterian."

[Q] Playboy: Besides your mother, who influenced your career? Did you have any particular idols?

[A] Burns: No. Well, one guy I admired was our letter carrier, Harry Farley. He got us together, the Peewee Quartet, and taught us harmony. His name was Feingold, really. He wanted to go into show business, so he called himself Harry Farley. He also wanted to be a policeman and he was too short to be a policeman. He was 5'8" or something and to be a policeman, you had to be 5'9". He put a stretching machine in the basement and tried to stretch himself an inch. And the machine stretched a little too hard. If he had lived, he would have made it. But, anyway, he taught us harmony and I loved harmony.

[Q] Playboy: Did your brothers and sisters appreciate your singing and your jokes? Did they encourage you?

[A] Burns: They didn't want me to go into show business, even though I've been full of show business for as long as I can remember. They didn't think show business was kosher. You go to the Devil, you go to hell if you go into show business. They wanted me to be like my brother who opened a store in Akron, Ohio. He wanted me to come there to run the elevator and later--who knows?--maybe to be a buyer of ladies' dresses at 90 bucks a week. Who wanted that?

[Q] Playboy: How long did they feel that way?

[A] Burns: Until I started doing well. Then they were sorry they didn't go into show business.

[Q] Playboy: What were some of the songs the prize-winning Peewee Quartet made famous?

[A] Burns: Oh, Good-bye Girlie and Remember Me When You're Far Away. That was one. And then we sang Roll, Roll, Roll Those Bones. Every quartet sang that. It's a crap-game song. And then we sang a song that made no sense at all. It went, "Mary Ann, Mary sat in the corner. Night and day, night and day. She was so lazy we thought she was crazy.... Some say the Bowery is not very flowery when Johnny comes marching.... Johnny get a gun, get a gun, get a gun and beat McNulty, too." It made no sense, but there was harmony there.

[Q] Playboy: No wonder they kept tossing you off ferryboats.

[A] Burns: That only happened once. A guy on the upper deck was making love to this broad and we four kids wanted to make a few pennies, so we got in front of him and we started to sing harmony. He didn't want harmony. He wanted to kiss this girl. We were singing songs like Always Think of Mother and She'll Always Think of You. And he was making love to this girl, who was maybe a virgin or something. So he grabbed us and threw us overboard. But you couldn't drown in the East River, because the garbage was so thick. You could always just jump on a pile of garbage.

[Q] Playboy: See, you're the one who keeps bringing up sex. So we may as well ask you how you lost your virginity.

[A] Burns: Oh, I ran two dancing schools when I was 14. There was this pupil--well, I thought she was an old woman--must have been 23. Married, had a couple of kids. We did it in one of the meeting rooms above the dance place. She had to help me. I didn't know what to do with her. I just looked at it and she did it. I could do that myself. I didn't need anybody. And it got so, when I was doing well, I'd do it with gloves on.

[Q] Playboy: Vaudevillians must have had their groupies. Were you a ladies' man?

[A] Burns: No. Never. I was a very, very good ballroom dancer. I was a great Peabody dancer. Once, I had dates with two girls. And one girl was a great Peabody dancer and the other one I could have gone to bed with. Well, there was a contest, a Peabody contest, so I took out the Peabody dancer. I told you, the other thing I could do myself.

[Q] Playboy: You started in vaudeville when you were 14. What were the names under which you performed?

[A] Burns: Oh, it didn't make any difference what my name was, because I was always being laid off, getting canceled. I was Harris of Pierce and Harris. I was Smith of Garfield and Smith. Then there was an act, Brown and Williams, Singers, Dancers and Roller Skaters, and they were doing pretty good, getting maybe $100 a week. A lot of money. Even with commission, that's 90 bucks for two guys. Anyway, they split up and I went to work with Brown. And we did the same act. Well, everybody did that act and we didn't even have enough sense to change our names. Everybody was named Brown or Williams. There was Brown and Williams and Williams and Brown and there was Brown and Brown and there was Williams and Williams and there were the Brown Brothers and the Williams Boys. We all did the same act and we were all laid off together. Later there was a guy called Willie Delight and he had 2000 cards printed, willie delight, songs, dances & syncopated patter. But he left vaudeville for another job. He had 1920 cards left, so I bought them for two dollars. And I changed my name to Willie Delight until I had used up the cards. But no matter what my name was, I was always laying off.

[Q] Playboy: How did you become George Burns?

[A] Burns: First I was Nat Burns. When I was a kid, Burns Brothers was a coal-delivery company on the East Side. And there was a little fellow I palled around with, Abie Kaplan, who was later Brown of Brown and Brown. Anyway, Abie and I would open the chute on the coal truck and fill our knickers with coal for our mothers. And when they saw us coming down the street, everybody would say, "Here come the Burns boys." And that stuck. Later I changed my name to George, because there was another Nat Burns in show business and he was stronger than I was.

[Q] Playboy: Early in your career, you were married briefly, weren't you?

[A] Burns: An hour.

[Q] Playboy: Tell us about it.

[A] Burns: Hannah Siegal was her name. We did a Latin dance act and we were booked for 36 weeks on the small time. We opened the show. Pretty bad act. But I thought it was great. At least I was in show business. And this girl, her father wouldn't let me take her out of town unless I married her. Well, I wasn't going to cancel 36 weeks, so I married her. I think I was about 22.

[Q] Playboy: You've often said that until you teamed up with Gracie, you were plain awful. Did you ever feel you should give up show business and run your brother's elevator in Akron?

[A] Burns: No. You see, I thought I had made it. Sure, I was awful, so bad that I thought I was good. But look, I had make-up, I had music, I had skates--we used to dance on roller skates. I didn't have a job, but I had everything to go with it. If somebody said, "What are you doing?" I'd say, "Are you kidding? I'm in show business!"

[Q] Playboy: Enter laughing, Gracie Allen. How did you meet?

[A] Burns: It was 1923. I was playing with Billy Lorraine, our last three days together. We were going to split up, not because we were angry with each other but because we couldn't get another job. So Gracie came backstage to visit a girlfriend, Rena Arnold, who was the headliner on the bill. And Rena told Gracie, "Those two boys are splitting up. Maybe you'd like to work with one of them." Well, Gracie was a dramatic Irish actress and she was out of work. So she went out front and saw our act. And she said she'd work with me if I could do away with a gold tooth I had in the front of my mouth. So I got rid of the gold tooth. Well, I didn't get rid of it right away. I found out that Max Factor made whitening that you could put on, white enamel. And I went to work with Gracie.

[Q] Playboy: What sort of act did you do?

[A] Burns: An act I wrote. Actually, I got it mostly out of College Humor and Captain Billy's Whizbang. I'd take the jokes and switch them. I always had a good feel for how to switch a joke. The secret of our success was that I knew what to do offstage and Gracie knew what to do on. Anyway, I was the comic, with wide pants and a turned-up hat and a bow tie that worked on a swivel. A lousy, smalltime act. I never thought I'd go anyplace, so I built all my acts to be on as number two. That was my ambition in life. Well, we were booked at some theater in Brooklyn, $30 for three days. We walked onstage for the matinee. And I'm no fool. I noticed that this little girl, there was something very charming about her. And the audience noticed it. Gracie would ask me these questions and the audience sort of giggled at the questions. But when I did the joke answers--nothing. Not a snicker. Well, when we came offstage, I said, "Look, let's reverse this thing." I gave Gracie all the funny lines. If Gracie told a joke, it wouldn't get a laugh. But if she told sort of an off-center thing, that got a laugh.

[Q] Playboy: Why?

[A] Burns: Well, that character fitted her. And the audience found her, I didn't. The audience didn't like her to do anything sarcastic. It didn't go with her. She was too dainty, too ladylike. She wasn't a girl with big things. She was a beautiful little girl, like a little doll, a little Irish doll. So I started finding those off-center, illogical logical lines for Gracie, and we started to do well. To give you an idea of how much the audience really liked Gracie--I smoked a cigar. The reason I smoked a cigar is I never knew what the hell to do with my left hand. I could smoke with my left hand, and I got so good I was able to smoke with both hands. That was my big talent. Anyway, the first thing I'd do before the matinee, I'd always find out which way the wind was blowing onstage. So I stood on the side where my smoke didn't go in Gracie's face. If the smoke hit Gracie, the audience would hate me.

[Q] Playboy: Didn't Gracie also have an Irish temper?

[A] Burns: Oh, yeah. Let me tell you what happened once when we were playing New Orleans. Gracie had bought a new dress, which cost $400, to wear in our act. Before we opened, she sent the dress to a place called the Chiffon Cleaners, and when it came back, the dress was ruined. Gracie was heartbroken and went to the cleaners and demanded $400 to replace the dress. Well, she got nowhere. So we were on the stage, the theater was packed and the audience was loving us. When we got to our closing number, we came to the joke where I stopped the music and said, "A funny thing happened to my mother in Cleveland," and Gracie was supposed to answer, "I thought you were born in Buffalo." Well, instead of answering me, she just walked down to the footlights and said, "Ladies and gentlemen, when I arrived in New Orleans, I had a brand-new dress which cost me $400, and yesterday I sent it to be cleaned by the Chiffon Cleaners, which is located at the corner of St. Charles and Canal Street. When it came back, it was absolutely ruined. I went down there, and since I could never wear the dress again, I asked them to make good on it. They not only refused but were very rude to me. I'll be leaving New Orleans at the end of the week, but you people live here. So I'm warning you, don't send your clothes to the Chiffon Cleaners, which is located at the corner of St. Charles and Canal Street." And, with that, she turned and walked back to me and said, "I thought you were born in Buffalo." Of course, the joke did not get a laugh. That night, she made the same speech but in a different part of our act. We still had six more days in New Orleans and I knew there was no stopping Gracie. Fortunately for my peace of mind, the next day there was an envelope for Gracie with $400 in it, compliments of the Chiffon Cleaners.

[Q] Playboy: Gracie's approach sounds logical to us. What's an example of the illogical logic of her character?

[A] Burns: Well, a line where I'd say to Gracie, "Did the nurse ever drop you when you were a baby?" She says, "No, no, no. We couldn't afford a nurse. My mother had to do it." And she didn't say it to be funny. What she meant was they couldn't afford a nurse. Gracie would put pepper in the salt shaker and salt in the pepper shaker and I'd say, "Gracie, why did you do that?" And she looked at me like, "Poor fool," and she'd say, "Well, people always get mixed up and now when they do, they're right." It was so simple for her.

[Q] Playboy: How long did it take after you hit on that formula for you to reach the top?

[A] Burns: Well, eventually we got married and signed a contract for six years for $500 a week, which was a lot of money. And one night Gracie and I were at a party at Arthur Lyons'--he was Jack Benny's agent--and in the middle of the party, the phone rang and Arthur came over to us and said, "Look, how would you and Gracie like to make $1700 tomorrow?" I had never heard of $1700 in my life. I said, "Doing what?" He said, "Fred Allen is supposed to do a short in Long Island, for nine minutes, and he can't make it, he's not feeling well. You want to go do nine minutes and get $1700?" Of course. It was very easy for us to do nine minutes. Seventeen minutes of material, that's all we had. Anyway, the short was to be filmed in the interior of a living room. Well, our act didn't fit that, because we did a street-corner act--Gracie would pass, I'd tip my hat and flirt with her. We couldn't do that in a living room. So I had to concoct something. Didn't want to lose that $1700. So we came out in the living room, I took off my hat while Gracie was looking in ashtrays, under ashtrays, behind sofas. I said, "What are you looking for?" She said, "The audience"--which took us right out of the living room. I said, "You see the camera there, you see the little lens? If you look in that little lens, that's the audience. Now, Gracie, we're taking somebody's place, we're supposed to do nine minutes. And if we can do nine minutes, we'll get $1700. Do you think we can do nine minutes?" She said, "Ask me how my brother is." I said, "Gracie, how's your brother?" And she kept talking, I kept doing straight, and she was in the middle of a joke and I looked at my watch and I said, "Hold it. You can't finish that. Our nine minutes are up. Ladies and gentlemen, we just made $1700." And Gracie waved goodbye. And that short was a big hit. They signed us for four shorts a year for $3500 each. That meant $14,000 a year. We were in the big time.

[Q] Playboy: What was Gracie like offstage, around the house?

[A] Burns: Well, she took care of the house and we had two lovely children, Sandra and Ronnie, and she took care of the children. Gracie had a lot of very, very good friends. She liked to go shopping, she liked to wear good clothes. She was busy. We were on radio for 18 years. That was easy, because you could read the script. But on television for eight years, we had a script of 40 pages to memorize and 28 or 29 pages belonged to her. And Gracie wasn't full of show business like I was. Gracie used to like those soap operas. For instance, years ago, I came home after just signing a contract with Chesterfield for another year. It was an awful lot of money. I was all excited and I said, "Gracie, I have some wonderful news." She said, "Not now, Ma Perkins is in trouble." Well, I had to sit there until Ma Perkins got out of trouble. Ma Perkins! Who the hell cared about Ma Perkins?

[Q] Playboy: You and Gracie were married for 38 years, in one of show business' ideal matches. Today, a third to a half of all marriages are ending in divorce. What's wrong?

[A] Burns: There's nothing wrong. That's just the lifestyle. Today the kids live together and they have children and if they like the way the children look, they get married. And if they don't get along, all they have to do is get divorced and live together again, and they're happy again. In the old days, anybody having an affair before marriage, it was hush-hush.

[Q] Playboy: But it happened all the time.

[A] Burns: It was happening but with the door closed. Now they do it with the doors open and they scream to the neighbors, "Look, we're having an affair!" It's entirely different today: "Come over and watch us!"

[Q] Playboy: What do you think of all this liberalization?

[A] Burns: I don't know if it's good or bad. I'm a singer, not a swinger. I couldn't make a dollar in that other business. Nobody would pay me for that. Even in our marriage, I don't ever remember when I kissed Gracie that she applauded me. I made Gracie laugh. Gracie married me because I was funny. Sex was never a part of it. We had sex, of course we had sex. Look, we slept together. We were not only married 38 years, we were married three times that, because ... don't forget, I slept with Gracie, I ate with Gracie, I dressed with Gracie, I worked with Gracie. When I was with Gracie for 38 years, it was 38 years. And we never got into each other's way with our marriage. It was a wonderful marriage.

[Q] Playboy: Did you cheat on each other?

[A] Burns: Well, I don't know about Gracie, but I'll tell you a story about me ... OK, I'll tell it. We were married for a lot of years and I had a ... what's another word for condom?

[Q] Playboy: A rubber.

[A] Burns: A rubber, OK. A rubber fell out of my pants when I got dressed. We were married maybe 20 years. And this silly maid upstairs took the rubber and put it on my dresser. And Gracie saw it. When I came home, I saw this thing and I said to the maid, "Did you put this on here? How stupid can you be?" Well, Gracie wanted a silver centerpiece that cost $750. I thought it was silly to buy it, but when I found out that Gracie saw that rubber.... If I'd said to Gracie that the boys at the Friars played a joke on me and they put that in my pocket, I think Gracie would have left me. Gracie was smart. You couldn't do that with Gracie. So I never said a word. The next day, I got the centerpiece and also a $10,000 diamond pin for her. Never said a word. The next night, I gave her the pin and she accepted it. And we never talked about it.

[Q] Playboy: So you did mess around a bit?

[A] Burns: Well, not a bit. But I did mess around then. Look, nobody is a ... I don't care if you were married to Marilyn Monroe. If you were married to her, you would cheat with some ugly girl.

[Q] Playboy: Since your main acknowledged talent was for smoking a cigar, you must have felt strange going out onstage on your own after Gracie retired.

[A] Burns: Yeah. But when you're forced to do things, you do them. With Gracie, I did a lot, but not onstage. I sat there with writers; I knew how to finish an act, how to end it; I knew exits, I knew entrances. That's very important; you must know how to get on and you must know how to get off. In vaudeville, if you could take good bows, you didn't have to have a good act. There was a certain knack in taking a bow. You'd walk off the stage and you did a lousy act. Then you'd come on taking a bow with an instrument in your hand. They'd say, "Well, maybe he plays," and give you an ovation. Well, I knew all of that. So I knew all about show business, but I never had to perform onstage.

[Q] Playboy: And at the age of 62, you were reborn as a performer.

[A] Burns: Well, I didn't want to retire, I was too young to retire. So I went into show business by myself. I was booked into Harrah's at Lake Tahoe and I had a great show. I got Bobby Darin, who was sensational, the DeCastro sisters, who were wonderful, and Brascia & Tybee, the best dancing act in show business. Three acts. Who needed me? Anyway, the audience liked the show. And eventually I stayed and learned to do monologs by myself.

[Q] Playboy: Gracie was in the audience for your night-club debut. What did she think of it?

[A] Burns: I'll never forget what she said when I asked her. She said, "I thought it was a fine show, it was put together just great." I didn't want that answer. I wanted to know how she liked me. So Gracie said, "Well, you're good, but you recite your monologs." That knocked me on my can. Recite my monologs! That meant I wasn't thinking. I did it like a machine. Gracie's line straightened me out. The next day, I stopped reciting. And all these little songs I'd been doing at parties all my life--I put them in the act. So the act developed. And then you know what happened. Jack Benny was supposed to do The Sunshine Boys and he left us. I took his place and the picture opened up a whole new career for me. And here I am an actor. But I might turn out to be such a great actor that I might never sing again. And you know what happened to Paul Muni. [Pause] You're supposed to say, "I didn't know that Paul Muni sang."

[Q] Playboy: We didn't know that Paul Muni sang.

[A] Burns: How about Edward G. Robinson? Spencer Tracy? This could go on and on. I love it. I love to sing. You like my voice?

[Q] Playboy: Your voice is ... interesting. But is it one of the world's treasures, like Marlene Dietrich's legs, worth insuring for $1,000,000, as you did?

[A] Burns: That was a publicity stunt. They thought it would be a good idea. I think it was a bad stunt. It was too obvious, too obvious.

[Q] Playboy: You just mentioned Jack Benny, your closest friend. How did you meet him?

[A] Burns: Well, Jack was going around with a girl named Mary Kelly, and they pretty near got married. This was before he ever met Mary Livingstone. And Mary Kelly and Gracie Allen and Rena Arnold, three very religious Catholic girls, all lived together. Then I started to work with Gracie and that's how I met Jack. We'd go out together. Even then, he was doing stingy jokes. His writers really didn't find that for him; he was doing it early on the stage. One of his big jokes was that he took a girl out to dinner and he told her a joke and she laughed so hard that she pretty near dropped her tray.

[Q] Playboy: There's a rumor that you could crack up Benny as no one else could.

[A] Burns: That's because I never tried to crack him up. If you told Jack a joke, that wouldn't do it. In other words, if you had to stop the conversation to make Jack Benny laugh, that wouldn't work. But if he started it ... like Jack said to me once--this might not even be funny in telling it--he said, "I didn't sleep last night." I said, "How did you sleep the night before?" "Great." I said, "Sleep every other night." Well, that knocked him out. There's a story I'd never tell, but I think it's funny.... We were handled by the same agent, Tom Fitzpatrick, a wonderful man who just couldn't say, "I've got no job for you." So if he had no job for you, he'd open the drawers of his desk, looking for papers. The minute he started looking for papers, you knew you were laying off. So I was coming out of Fitzpatrick's office in the Palace Theater and Jack was standing in front of the Palace and Jack says, "You and Gracie working next week?" I said, "No, Tom just looked through his drawers." Well, that killed him. He thought that was terribly funny. And I didn't. In fact, I resented Jack's even laughing at this. Lousy joke. But he started to laugh on the street. So I stopped about three or four people, strangers, and he was standing right there, and I said, "Why is this man laughing?" The next thing you know, there was a crowd of 50, 60 people standing around Jack Benny while he was on the sidewalk laughing. And nobody knew why he was laughing.

[Q] Playboy: Is it true that he would actually fall off a chair and pound the floor?

[A] Burns: Yeah, he'd fall on the floor. And it was always little things that broke him up. Like we were at Chasen's, he was with one party and I was with another party, and he came over to say hello. I said, "Sit down, Jack, have a little salt." Now, that's a nothing line. But it murdered him. He went back to his table and told them, "What do you think he just said? 'Sit down and have a little salt.' " Nobody at his table thought it was funny, but they all screamed, because Jack was hitting the table and falling on the floor. So Jack kept telling everybody this fercockteh joke and I got sick of it. So I said to Jack one day, "Jack, do me a favor. Tell everybody Milton Berle said that and not me."

[A] Another time at Chasen's, Jack and I were having dinner and Jack got this brilliant idea. He said, "I can make Chasen pay for our check." I said, "How do you do that?" He said, "Simple. We're both good customers, we're always eating here. We'll get into an argument when the check comes and I'll call Dave Chasen over and I'll say, 'If George Burns pays the check, I'll never come in here again.' And then you say, 'If Jack Benny pays the check, I'll never come in here again.' Chasen will tear up the check. Easy. Can't miss." I said, "OK, Jack." So we had a nice dinner, check came, Jack called over Chasen and he said, "If George Burns pays the check, I'll never come in here again." I never said a thing. I just sat there. So Chasen gave him the check.

[Q] Playboy: We remember hearing something about a piece of thread----

[A] Burns: Oh, the thread story. We were at some party and Jack had a little piece of white thread stuck on the lapel of his coat. I told Jack that I didn't know they were wearing little pieces of thread on lapels--would he mind if I borrowed it? And I took the little piece of white thread off his lapel. Well, Jack was a wreck. So, the next day, I got a little box and I put the thread in the box with a little note saying, "Thanks for letting me wear this last night." Well, Mary called me later and she says, "That piece of thread arrived an hour ago and if Jack doesn't get off the floor, I might leave him."

[Q] Playboy: Benny always talked in superlatives about mundane things--the softest towels, the best spaghetti----

[A] Burns: Right, right. Jack once said to me, "This is the coldest glass of water I've ever had in my life." Now, how would anybody know the coldest glass of water? See, all the big things in life happened to Jack, everything big: big contracts, big money, big jobs, big honors. The big things didn't mean too much to him. So little things got to be very big in Jack's life. I don't know if you know this story--Jack had just signed a contract for a couple million dollars and I saw him at the club. I knew about the contract. I said, "Jack, you look all excited." He said, "Yeah, I just drove from downtown back and I took Wilshire Boulevard and I found out if you go 27 miles an hour, you miss every red light." He'd just signed a contract for $2,000,000 and he's excited about the red lights!

[A] Oh, here's a great Benny story: We were at a party and Jack went to the mantelpiece and picked up a cigarette and began to light it. And I said, "Hold everything. Jack is now going to do the match bit." Now, Jack is standing there, everybody stops talking, they're all looking at Jack and he's got a cigarette in one hand, a match in the other. He doesn't know what to do. He put the cigarette in his mouth and lit it. I said, "Oh, new finish." End of Jack.

[Q] Playboy: Yet Jack would go to any extreme to break you up--and never succeeded. Why?

[A] Burns: Because he tried so hard. Jack always tried to set me up for a laugh. Like the time Gracie and I arrived in Minneapolis and checked in at Jack's hotel. I called him and told him I was coming up. Jack said, "Don't come up for two minutes." I knew right away he was setting me up. So when I got up there, I sent the maid into his room ahead of me. Sure enough, he was standing on the bed, naked, with a flower in one hand and a pitcher of water in the other.

[Q] Playboy: Benny had a famous line that supposedly triggered the biggest laugh ever on radio--"Your money or your life"--at which point he paused to ponder the choice. Did you and Gracie have any similar bit?

[A] Burns: Well, our biggest smash was Gracie's missing brother. We got this idea of Gracie's brother being missing and we thought we'd go on a few CBS programs and ask whether anyone had seen Gracie's brother. Until then, if you had your own show, you didn't make guest appearances on anyone else's. We were the first to do it. Eventually, the thing caught fire and we went on all the shows. Like, the phone would ring on some dramatic radio show about, say, a submarine and Gracie would say, "Is my missing brother down there?" We went right to the top of the ratings.

[Q] Playboy: Did Gracie find her brother?

[A] Burns: No. He changed his name. He really did. Gracie had a brother, George, and they started kidding him about being Gracie's missing brother. So he changed his name.

[Q] Playboy: Gracie's death must have hit you very, very hard.

[A] Burns: It did. For months, I couldn't sleep. The last eight years, Gracie and I had twin beds. We always slept together, but the last eight years we slept in twin beds. I finally began sleeping in Gracie's bed a few months after she died. And it worked; it did a lot for me. And I visit Gracie.

[Q] Playboy: You still go to the cemetery?

[A] Burns: Once a month. I talk to her. When I was up for The Sunshine Boys, I asked her to talk to the fellow up there and make sure I got the part; but don't talk to Him, I told her, talk to His son, because he's Jewish, too.

[Q] Playboy: Well, somebody up there must like you. You got the part and at 79 became a movie star.

[A] Burns: Well, that was easy, because The Sunshine Boys called for somebody who was old, somebody who came from vaudeville, somebody who came from New York and somebody who was Jewish. How they found out I'm Jewish, I'll never know! Somebody must have sneaked into Hillcrest's locker room.

[Q] Playboy: Did you expect to win the Oscar? Were you surprised?

[A] Burns: I felt I'd win it, because everybody convinced me that I would. All the people kept telling me, "George, you're going to win it." Finally, I believed it. If I didn't win the award, I would have killed myself.

[Q] Playboy: Was winning the Academy Award your most memorable moment? Did anything else in your career top it?

[A] Burns: Well, playing the Palace Theater the first time was as big as getting the Oscar. Maybe bigger, maybe bigger. Whoever thought I'd play the Palace? That was really something.

[Q] Playboy: Why are so many great comics Jewish?

[A] Burns: Well, for the same reason that blacks are great athletes and fighters. That's the way you could get out of the neighborhood. I think that most actors, practically all the comedians, came from poor families.

[Q] Playboy: Earlier, you were talking about personalities who will last because they broke new ground: Groucho, Chaplin, Benny. What about Lenny Bruce? Was he a comic genius?

[A] Burns: I guess he was. Maybe he got to be a genius too soon. Lenny Bruce was the first one ever to say four-letter words, say anything he wanted. I never understood that kind of humor.

[Q] Playboy: What about the new comics spawned by Bruce and Mort Sahl--Richard Pryor, George Carlin, the late Freddie Prinze?

[A] Burns: You mean all the kids that are coming up like Milton Berle, Alan King, Buddy Hackett, Jan Murray? Those kids will all make it. The kids today, you can't stop 'em. Look, I gave Bobby Darin his first job in Vegas and I gave Ann-Margret her first job in Vegas. Well, OK, what did I do for them? I heard them and they were great and I took them to Vegas and I got on the stage and I said, "Ladies and gentlemen, Bobby Darin." And I walked off the stage and Bobby Darin killed the audience. Or Ann-Margret: "Ann-Margret, ladies and gentlemen." And she was a star, right from the first minute. You mean to say if I hadn't introduced them somebody else wouldn't have? I always go back to one thing. Powers always said that "every elephant has its own personality." You know, I never knew what the hell he meant by that.

[Q] Playboy: Lenny Bruce became something of a martyr because his humor was considered, among other things, too political. Do you think comedians make a mistake by becoming political?

[A] Burns: No, if that's their cup of tea. I'm not political at all. I've met Presidents: Franklin Roosevelt, Jack Kennedy. I was invited to the White House when Kennedy was President. Bobby was there, so was Teddy. We sang harmony together.

[Q] Playboy: A far cry from the Peewee Quartet.

[A] Burns: Yeah. I'll tell you who is very, very good. Teddy Kennedy is a great comedian. He got up and he gave an imitation of his grandfather, who was a politician in Boston, Fitz-something. The President was on the floor. And I was sitting next to Jacqueline Kennedy and she said to me, "I don't know what he's laughing for. He's heard that 20 times." I sang a French song, La Vie en Rose, for Jackie. She loved it; told me she had been speaking French all her life, but after hearing me, she realized she had been doing it all wrong. And I was at Kennedy's birthday party when Marilyn Monroe sang Happy Birthday.

[Q] Playboy: Did you know Marilyn Monroe?

[A] Burns: I knew Marilyn. Never danced with her. Too bad, because I understand she danced close. You want a martini?

[Q] Playboy: Sure. You spend a lot of time around young people; have you ever tried marijuana?

[A] Burns: No.

[Q] Playboy: Does it concern you one way or the other? Do you think it should be legalized? Or banned?

[A] Burns: How would you know if you don't try it? You got some with you?

[Q] Playboy: No. If we did, would you try it?

[A] Burns: No, because, look, I'm drinking a martini. That's the same thing, isn't it? I don't think you get more out of marijuana than you do a martini.

[Q] Playboy: If one of your young ladies came back here and smoked marijuana, would that offend you?

[A] Burns: I don't think so. No. Look, people smoke it. I went to a party and people sat around and smoked marijuana. That was all right. You pass the joint around. I didn't bother with it, because I didn't want to waste it. Look, I can't get any more kicks than I'm getting. What can marijuana do for me that show business hasn't done?

[Q] Playboy: A lot of kids in show business have destroyed themselves with drugs.

[A] Burns: I can see where that can happen. I'm not much of a drinker; I have a couple of martinis before dinner, a couple of drinks when I go out. But when I was working alone without Gracie, I was drinking quite a bit before I walked onstage. I was very nervous about working alone. So I can see where sometimes you need something.

[Q] Playboy: Another thing about contemporary entertainers is that they become famous and rich so quickly they don't know how to handle it. With you and your contemporaries, it took a long time to come up through the vaudeville circuit, didn't it?

[A] Burns: Yeah; it took four years for an Irving Berlin song to become popular and it would stay popular for four years. Now, with television, radio and records, it's a week and you have a new hit, a new star.

[Q] Playboy: How do you spend your time these days?

[A] Burns: I get up at eight o'clock. I do some floor exercises upstairs. Take a shower. I come down, have breakfast. Then I go upstairs and I get dressed. Then I go out and do my walking. I walk between 15 and 20 minutes. Fifteen minutes is a mile. Brisk walk. Then I come in, have a cup of tea, finish getting dressed, and I'm at my office at nine o'clock. I'm writing another book, so I try to write seven or eight pages a day. And there's a lot of mail I've got to answer. Then I go to Hillcrest for lunch; used to be a very exciting table, but now everybody's gone. I have lunch, then I go inside and play bridge from one-thirty to three-thirty. And then I come home, I take a nap at four o'clock. I get up at five-thirty. If I've got nothing to do, I'll have a couple of martinis and I'll have my dinner, watch a little television and at nine or nine-thirty, I go up and read. If I've got something to do, I get dressed and I go out.

[Q] Playboy: When you go out, where do you like to go?

[A] Burns: Oh, Chasen's, Gatsby's, the Palm. And I like to go to discothèques. It's very easy to dance today. You just push the girl out and let her dance. Then, when she gets around to you again, you push her out again. I'm at the point now where I'm a fine pusher.

[Q] Playboy: Seriously, were you really a great dancer?

[A] Burns: Seriously, yes. Was Valentino a great dancer? When Valentino was 18 years old, he used to dance at Churchill's and he used to get about 18 bucks a week. He used to dance at these afternoon teas. The women would come and have cocktails and tea and dance with these gigolos like Valentino--they didn't call them gigolos then, they called them lounge lizards.

[A] Valeska Suratt was a very, very big star on Broadway, and she went into Churchill's and saw this beautiful young Valentino. So she danced with Valentino and he told her he was leaving for Hollywood to go into pictures. And she said, "What's your name, young man?" And he said, "My name is Rudolph Valentino." And she said, "Well, the first thing I would do is change that name." Which I did, and I've been calling myself George Burns ever since! That's a lovely story. It's a great lie, isn't it? It's a beautiful lie.

[A] Actually, not many people know this, but I taught Fred Astaire how to dance.

[Q] Playboy: You taught Fred Astaire how to dance?

[A] Burns: Are you an echo chamber? Yeah, I taught him to dance. Gracie and I made a picture with him, Damsel in Distress. We got a lot of money for it, $60,000 for six weeks' work. And I'm what you call a right-legged dancer. I've got a good right leg but a bad left one. And I knew if Fred Astaire saw me dance, he'd keep the right leg and fire the left one. So there were two guys in vaudeville who used to do a whisk-broom dance and I thought it was a great dance. I sent for one of them and he taught Gracie and me the whisk-broom dance. So we met Fred Astaire and I said, "Fred, I'd like to show you something: the whisk-broom dance we used to do in vaudeville." Which we didn't. But $60,000 for six weeks! We did the dance and Fred thought it was just great. He said, "Geez, great dance." I said, "Well, if you want it, it's yours!" He said, "You mean we can do it in the movie?" I said, "Of course." He said, "OK." Got him. Got ourselves $60,000 and I was teaching Fred Astaire to dance.

[Q] Playboy: Didn't you also make a movie with W. C. Fields?

[A] Burns: Yeah, The International House. There was a scene in that picture at the table, where Gracie hits Fields with one of her offbeat lines and leaves. When they were shooting it, Fields came over and he said, "Jesus, I feel kind of silly, sitting at this table and she hits me with this line and she walks away and I have nothing to say. I need something." So I said, "I'll tell you what to do. You've got a drink of Scotch on the table"--Fields was always featuring the booze--"and a glass of water and a cup of coffee. Why don't you take the two pieces of sugar and put them in the water, mix the coffee and drink the Scotch?" It got a big laugh. And he said to me, "George, you're the greatest man I've ever met in my life."

[Q] Playboy: Did you like Fields?

[A] Burns: Oh, yeah. He came to our house a few times for dinner. He used to bring his own gin with him. Wore a vest with four pockets and he had two drinks in each pocket, in case you ran out of gin. First time he came over, he forgot his vest. So he called his chauffeur and said, "Go home and get me my vest." I had heard about his vest and I said. "Look, I'm a gin drinker myself, Bill, so you don't need the vest." And he yelled to his chauffeur, "Forget the vest. I've got gin from another source." Another Fields story, I don't know whether anybody knows this story and I don't even know whether it's true, but I think it is. W. C. Fields, when he was a very young man, was married to a very pretty girl. He was in his early 20s and he went to England and he did a juggling act. No talk. What they call a dumb act. Just juggled. At the finish of his act, he used to juggle cigar boxes. There was a great English star on the bill with him. And Fields's young wife went for this star. When Fields left England, she stayed with this star. This star stole W. C. Fields's wife, but Fields stole his delivery. That delivery, talking on the upbeat, was the other guy's delivery.

[Q] Playboy: You've been around a long time----

[A] Burns: Yeah, I was brought up to respect my elders and now I don't have to respect anybody.

[Q] Playboy: As we were going to say, you've known most of the great comedians. What about Fred Allen?

[A] Burns: Oh, yeah. Gracie and I used to do a routine about the bird, the hepplewhite, a crazy routine that we made up. About Gracie's brother, who would go hunting and take four dogs, and the next day he'd take four more and the following day he'd take four more. What happened? He used to shoot them. She said, "He aimed at the bird, but he shot the dogs." So I said to Gracie, "Why don't you go hunting with him?" Big laughs. Anyway, we met Joe Frisco and he said, "Hey, that hunting routine--I'll give you a great joke. The bird that he goes hunting for, the hepplewhite, why don't you have the bird fly backward because it's not interested in where it's going, it's interested in where it's been?" I'm going back 50 years. It's an old joke. So we did it at the Palace and the joke was a smash, a big hit. It gave a believability to this crazy routine. Well, I got a call from Fred Allen and he said the joke about the backward bird was his. In those days, if it was your joke, only you could do it. You had to write your act down and register it at the Pat Casey office. If somebody stole your joke, Pat Casey would say, "Take it out," and you had to take it out or you couldn't get a job. Nowadays, if your jokes aren't stolen, you fire your writers! Anyway, it was Fred Allen's joke. I offered him $400 for it, but he wouldn't sell it. So I called up John P. Medbury, who was writing for us then. I explained the problem with Fred Allen and, without a pause, John says, "Have the bird fly upside down. In case the hunter shoots it, he falls up." And we did it and it was just as great. In fact, Fred Allen offered me $400 for that joke. Which is not true, but it gives you a good finish.

[Q] Playboy: You have a reputation as one of the nicest men in the world. Have you ever done anything particularly nasty, something that you're ashamed of?

[A] Burns: Well, I have a temper. I blow up at people. Once, when I owned four television shows, I was fuming at this guy because he had done something wrong--I forget what it was--and the next day he didn't come to work. I said, "Where is he?" And they said, "He thinks you fired him." Me? I didn't fire anybody. I called him and said, "Please come back to work." I'd get mad, but then I wouldn't know about it the next day.

[Q] Playboy: Looking back over your life, do you have any regrets? Is there something you haven't done or that you'd have done differently?

[A] Burns: No, I want to do it all again, but not different. Once more. A couple of times more.

[Q] Playboy: Sum up your philosophy of life.

[A] Burns: You have to have something to get you out of bed. I can't do anything in bed, anyway. The most important thing is to have a point, a direction you're headed. If kids had that, it would help a lot. If you can get a kid to fall in love with something, his lifestyle goes in that direction. I always knew where I was going. I was always in love with show business.

[Q] Playboy: George, what's the secret to staying young?

[A] Burns: Young girls. I flew in from New York recently and sitting opposite me on the plane was a young, beautiful girl wearing a see-through blouse. That blouse made me very nervous. When I looked at it, I sort of got the feeling it was looking back at me. In fact, over Albuquerque, I'm not sure, but I think one of them winked at me. When we were landing, I had trouble fastening my seat belt.

[Q] Playboy: Even Gracie wouldn't believe that story.

[A] Burns: You told me I was supposed to be funny. You didn't say I had to tell the truth.

"What the hell is wrong with going out with me? Look, I'd go out with women my age, but there are no women my age."

"Jolson sang too loud. He didn't want to use a microphone. Jolson sang in California and you heard him in Altoona."

"He grabbed us and threw us overboard. But you couldn't drown in the East River, because the garbage was so thick."

"I asked Gracie to talk to the fellow up there and make sure I got the part. Talk to His son, I told her, because he's Jewish, too."

"Sitting opposite me on the plane was a girl in a see-through blouse. Over Albuquerque, I think, one of them winked at me."